


Seeing is believing, in most cases

by BlooBlu



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: A grandparent passed away, Bar, Cats, Emile has future vison you get it, Fainting, Fighting with pillows, Fire mentioned breifly, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Food, Future vison, Headaches & Migraines, Health Issues, Heavy Angst, Hiding Medical Issues, Implied that Emile ends up in the hospital, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It's not an affair if it's platonic, Lying in general, M/M, Married Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Mild Blood, Missing persons on news, Not Beta Read, Older Characters, Pain, Right?, Self Confidence Issues, Sensitivity about getting old, Stranger in the middle of the night, TV News, Therapist Dr. Emile Picani, Therapy, bloody nose, mushy husbands, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:08:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23111476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlooBlu/pseuds/BlooBlu
Summary: Emile Picani loves his job as a child therapist. It's important to him, and he can tell the parents are always grateful, even if they don't always get an immediate solution.Admittedly, it helps that he can see into his own future, to know which questions will end in a tantrum and which ones will get him honest answers.(God help me I'm making another multi chapter fic)
Relationships: Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Remile
Comments: 9
Kudos: 59





	1. The beginning

Emile enjoys the simple things in life; prefers them, really. (He's busy enough as it is, he could use a little less excitement.) Like the cheese-filled microwave pretzels they sell at his favorite gas station.

The texture is rubbery at best and they're often a little too salty, but he loves them anyways. Each morning before work he makes time to stop and get one of these pretzels and a coffee, or a certain cotton-candy flavored energy drink if he _really_ needs to wake up.

Walking at a generally casual pace, Emile lets his eyes wander. He knows where he's going, and in the next few minutes no one is going to bump into him - well, not enough to knock him to the ground anyways. He's always preferred to look on the bright side of things, but it's nice when the future supports his optimistic outlook.

_...oh look, that flower stand is selling Cyclamen again! Is it really winter already? I wonder when-_

He pauses his thought for a moment, stopping and pressing himself against the wall of the apartment buildings he's walking past. A moment later, three children on bicycles (who should be in the bike lane of the road, the sidewalk is for _pedestrians_!) rush past him. 8 seconds off and he would have lost his drink and gained quite a few nasty scrapes… 

Maybe he should push his eyes a little further this morning… three minutes should be enough, if he wants to enjoy the scenic route to work a little longer.

. . .

Emile never refers to any patient as more or less difficult than another - each of them have struggles and their own unique way of dealing with them. But there are certainly kiddos who take more time to open up or agree to work with him towards a solution, or even talk to him at all.

Patton Charlotte is currently holding the record for his most stubborn patient. Not because he refuses to talk or doesn't want to find a solution, but because the little ball of sugar doesn't think that there _is_ a problem. Emile knows now that Patton just doesn't like to talk about his own feelings, especially when those feelings are bad; the most he'd gotten Pat to outright admit to in the three months they'd been seeing each other is that he isn't always as happy as he seems, and that Patton believes it's better for people not to know that.

He's narrowed it down to a few possibilities; the most likely being that Patton feels a sense of responsibility for those around him, believing that he must be brave and strong for everybody. This could stem from the accident that his parents originally brought him into therapy for, (drunk drivers are truly awful people) or even simply from the child's personality and how he seems to make friends wherever he goes. He draws others in, and that could make him feel responsible for keeping those close to him safe. 

A ten year old should never have to carry such a weight, of course, but right now they're just working on step one: admitting that there is a problem. 

...Another hour until their visit is done, and already Emile can feel a headache pressing against the back of his eyes. Looking into the future can be tricky, of course. He'll know what exact actions on his part will cause a specific outcome, but he cannot always follow those actions to the letter. He can't always remember the exact words he was supposed to say, or where his feet should be planted on the floor. 

"Well, I've told you a lot about my week, Mr. Picani, but what about yours? I know you've said that these talks are for me, but I'd really like to know!"

...Another distraction, trying to deflect from his life at school. But he can already see how disappointed Patton will be if he tries to steer the conversation back, so perhaps a little indulgence is alright. This isn't supposed to be one-sided, afterall - if Patton trusts him enough to talk about the more general parts of his life, Emile can extend the same courtesy.

"...it has been very pleasant so far. Though my espresso machine broke this morning, which made quite a mess - I had to change my sweater vest, which meant I had to change my shoes and tie too, otherwise they wouldn't match at all. You understand."

Patton grinned, now observing Emile's outfit much closer. 

"Yeah, you were probably wearing the minty green tie then, right? The ones that go with your dark brown shoes? Those wouldn't go with your white sweater now at all! Though you could probably still make it look fun, because you do that with all your clothes."

"That's very nice of you, Patton. Now do you think you could tell me about how classes have been going for you lately? I know it can be hard to change schools, especially going from a public to a private one, right in the middle of the year."

"I mean… it's really nice! The computers are so much faster and the desks don't have any drawings on them, but the classes are a lot more quiet… it feels like… a fancy Easter dinner every day but there's no eggs or chocolate..." 

"Yes, that does sound like a big change - why don't we talk about what things you aren't sure about this new environment, and discuss some ways to deal with it?"

...and so the rest of their hour went. Emile knew that Patton didn't like the school he was going to, but his parents figured a change of pace would help. Really, Patton just got stuck in a new place in the middle of the school year with dynamics and people that were unfamiliar and scary. He'd given them his two cents, but… ah… certain parents tend to… listen…. less… to professionals.

. . .

The absolute best part of the day, Emile knows, is when he gets to come home to his husband.

Their apartment isn't very big, but that's more because they don't need much space than due to any financial shortcomings. They have enough for themselves, two cats, and an extra two bedrooms in case of guests staying the night. With Emile's job alone they could afford to live comfortably, but coupled with Remy's bar, they both can afford to take plenty of time off to spend with each other, which is all Emile could ever ask for.

Today is a Thursday, so in an hour or so they'll be going out to The Sleepless Wagon - Remy's place - to hang out with Logan and Thomas. It's a long standing tradition for them all to hang out on Thursday nights, to the point where there's a penalty for not going: you have to complete one dare agreed upon by the other three members, no matter what. (They try to keep it tame, usually, but Logan is an old coot with plenty of experience in partying and drunk bets.) Emile's only had to miss four days in the 10 years they've all known each other, and that's one of his proudest achievements, honestly.

Afterall, he knows what time he has left with them, and would rather not waste it.


	2. The past, but, y'know. In the present.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to tage the bit where Emile's brain basically says "No" and he's in intense paint so I'll just let yall know that that happens in this chapter

Emile is gifted, his grandparents say.

He can see things no one else can, and must have been given a wonderful gift by fairies when he was born. And more than that, he was just a good kid, and his family adored him.

His parents had been surprised at how little he cried as a baby, or complained when words came to him. No matter where Emile was, he seemed content, if a little distracted - and was never in any fights with other children. It was odd, but you never look a gift horse in the mouth, right?

As he got older, whenever he was asked about his study habits, Emile would say he didn't study at all; not even right before tests. But this was ridiculous to everyone who knew him, because his grades were nearly perfect.

"The answers came to me in a dream," he would say, "I saw myself get the answers wrong over and over until I finally knew all the right ones."

Indeed, his gift had first manifested in his dreams; seeing the future was like having a lucid dream every night, so much so that he was curious about the seemingly random and fantastical dreams of his peers. "I dreamt I was dancing with bears!" And "well _I_ dreamt I was deep sea diving and found aliens at the bottom of the sea!"

This was insane to Emile, because those things would never actually happen to them, so why were they dreaming about these things? Aren't dreams supposed to show you what to do when you wake up?

Cartoons became very important to him, after that. Because if he could not experience these wonderful dreams himself, then maybe he could make do with the animated ones on the screen! And they actually had some very powerful messages, that could really help people understand some complex feelings with simpler words. Watching his friends experience issues similar in concept to what was on TV, Emile would try to help them with the same solution the cartoon used.

It didn't always work, of course, but sometimes it did, and that's what was important! Emile wanted to help as many people as he could this way - and when he said this, he was introduced to the concept of 'therapists'.

What a wonderful job to have, he was going to become one for sure!

. . . 

Emile can't remember how it happened, really. He knows _when,_ but not _how._ The _when_ was in his geometry class - he wasn't completely listening, (he doesn't need to, he's heard the entire lecture already, after all) and suddenly he wasn't looking at the same things, anymore. It wasn't school, he was walking home, and stopping by the store as he'd promised he would today. He's buying bread, a flash, and then he's at home. It was the wrong kind of bread, evidently - she had asked for sweet bread, but he'd just grabbed a regular loaf. Then he was back at the store, and he grabbed what seemed to be the last bag of sweet bread. He's walking to the register, and trips over a small box someone had left on the ground. 

...he smushed the bread upon landing. When he tries again, he doesn't trip and he leaves the store normally. Mom is happy. 

And then he's back in class. Nothing has changed, except that some time has passed. Everyone is putting away their notebooks and packing up for the day. School will end in a few minutes, and he's going to stop by the grocery store down the block on his way home.

...had he fallen asleep in class? That has to be it. He only Sees in his sleep, he's never done it awake before. Maybe he was just tired today… for some reason.

But it keeps happening. The dreams are happening at random times, when he's still wide awake. So far he hasn't gotten in any trouble for it, but he's worried about dreaming in the middle of a conversation, and someone thinking he's zoned out or doesn't care about what they're saying.

… he's almost embarrassed when he realizes what it is; he can activate his Sight by thinking about doing it. The trends are painfully obvious when he thinks about it: the first time he'd experienced one of his dreams, he'd asked his grandparents first; they always knew more about these things than mom or dad. They had told him he was just dreaming, and that people do that all the time - they just don't always remember doing it. From then on he had _expected_ to See in his sleep, and so he did. And those times he'd started doing it awake, he had been reflecting on the dreams he already had, or about things he was going to do later. 

Afterwards it was much easier to just gently divert his thoughts elsewhere. He still Sees every night in his dreams, but being able to See when he's awake can be helpful too; as it can only reach a few minutes into his future, he can remember small details a lot more clearly.

. . .

His head hurts.

Too-

It's too much

He can't 

He moves, rolls around 

And 

_writhes,_

Because sitting still is too- 

If he moves, 

Maybe it'll 

Hutrshurtshurtshurtshurtshursthurts 

What did he _do-_

 **is this is fault?** what did **he do**?

. . .

A seizure. 

That's the only explanation the doctors can give, though even they don't seem entirely sure.

They ask if he's taken any suspicious looking drugs lately, they promise he won't be in trouble, they just need to know. 

He hasn't. He also knows what happened to him, but no one believes him when he explains his Seeing, so he doesn't say anything.

His parents are worried, and gramps isn't well enough to visit but sends his love. Emile is sure grandma would be worried, too.

It was just an _experiment,_ he tells himself. He just wanted to know. People are supposed to be curious, aren't they?

Seems curiosity really did kill the cat - or, will.

He'd Seen his entire life, and in exchange had greatly shortened it.

Something about - a strain on his body. His heart and brain, mostly.

Twenty more years? Thirty? They can't say. But he probably won't live past forty. Everyone is upset, but Emile tries to reassure them.

"Oh… well, I mean… I can live a full life in that time, really! You know, about a hundred years ago the average life expectancy was forty, too! And… and people still did… okay. I'll be fine. Who knows, maybe I'll even get better down the line!"

. . .

Emile's 38th birthday was a month ago, today. December 16th.

He's not exactly happy about it, but thankfully his loved ones think he's just sensitive about getting old.

He knows Remy is suspicious, because Emile isn't the kind of person to care about his age or appearance that much. 

Obviously it's important to be honest with his husband - and he is! With everything except this. Because as much as he doesn't want Remy to get hurt, telling him would be worse. To hang the dread over his head as well for the next however many months or years they have left. And Emile is too selfish to leave, Remy is the love of his life and he can't imagine a world without him. And if he's lucky, he won't have to.


	3. Damn you, terminal illness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Huh. The name I have for this chapter is a lot different In my folders. Probably because I write the names before I write the story, and remeber to change it last minute bc it no longer makes sense.
> 
> Anyway, nothing major happens in this chapter. Just a little breather and some information, really. And yes, they have a cat named Kidney, what are you gonna do about it.

Emile doesn't have any appointments today, thankfully. He doesn't know how he's supposed to even get out of bed today, let alone strain his eyes all day looking for lies of omission and when someone isn't _lying,_ but only because they've been led to believe that falsehoods are fact.

His skull feels too big for the skin containing it, like his head is going to just burst any moment. Certainly not _just_ because of the alcohol, he knows the difference between hung-over and his debilitating case of 'going-to-die soon-itis'. 

...maybe he should obsess over certain long-nosed anime characters a little less, but not today.

The rare combination of both a visit to Remy's bar and an overcast morning, (a completely random but sure cause of brain misfires for him) mean he's acting a little... petulant, to say the least.

"C'mon babe, I made cooooofffeeeee…… with that disgusting cinnamon-toast-crunch creamer that you liiiiiiiikeeeee-"

Remy, the light of his life, the absolute sunshine rainbow that he is, is being entirely too loud and Emile's headache demands retribution.

"Wow. Rude. I thought we were over the pillow-throwing phase of our relationship, but I can play ball! Here I-"

Emile only has so many pillows and beanie babies. He might have to just sick Kidney on her papa, and that would be a darn shame. Then again, Butterscotch might make a better fuzzy assassin, if he could find the laser-pointer. And Kidney has a very warm, soft belly keeping his chest warm right now, so he's inclined to keep this soldier at home base.

Remy finally retaliates after his shock at being shut up twice with the same tactic, and the pillow he throws back hits him bulls-eye in the face - scaring Kidney away and making Emile sigh rather exasperatedly.

"Emmy, I get it if you need a day in, but you also need to take care of yourself by doing the drink water and maybe taking a shower things. Could I at least get you some breakfast in bed? We can still be sappy like that, I think."

Emile doesn't need to See what will make Remy acquiesce, he knows his husband is very adamant about only a few things - and self-care is one of them. Which means he has a lot more power to devote to those few firm beliefs, and Emile isn't going to win this one.

"I don't… uh. Think I can- can eat, right now. Water would be nice, though.."

And an Alieve or other painkiller, but Rem knows that. He's smarter about alcohol than most people would think at a glance, and knows Emile even better.

They spend the day in bed, and Emile does _eventually_ get up and shower, and put on comfy clothes for the rest of the day. His headache is still raging, and only increases at the thought of a whole night of Seeing. It's much less stressful and barely takes effort when asleep, but even that tiny bit of effort sounds like too much.

...maybe… he can go one night without Seeing. He'll be well rested and strong again in the morning, and can search a little during breakfast. One night can't hurt anyone, right?


	4. The reckoning comes in silently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood, kinda dissociative state for a bit, though it's an abstract situation.

Emile wakes up a little later than usual today. He doesn't have plans until this afternoon, so he should be fine, but it's odd. Remy is probably off checking out the bar, cleaning up from last night and getting ready for the weekend, when the real parties take place.

He's in the middle of fixing his tie when he realizes what's off- his head is… light. Taking steps doesn't feel as heavy or demanding as it usually does. He's just moving about… well, carelessly. But it's just as freeing as it is concerning. Is it because he hasn't Seen today yet? He doesn't know what's going to happen, and that's somehow less of a burden than normal.

…Emile really can't remember the last time he took a step without knowing exactly where it was taking him, the last time he'd picked a tie without knowing which color it was going to be from the moment he awoke. 

When he accidentally burns a slice of toast, he breaks into a fit of laughter he might consider _insane,_ were he looking upon from the outside. But inside, he just can't get over how _hilarious_ it is that he made such a **stupid** mistake.

...No. No, that is a very de-constructive thought train there, Em-

_"That's a very de-constructive attitude, little Em. Instead of focusing on the problem, why don't we work towards the solution?"_

What is _happening_ to him?

He isn't- 

It's too light, he's-

Away. Floating away. Gone forever-

He needs.

He's flying away.

He needs to touch the ground again

He'll never see 

The grass- 

It's gone- 

He needs to _See-_

But it's all-

Blank

Gone to black

TV static.

_What am I?_

. . . 

When he wakes up this time, it's much more uncomfortable.

Not much time has passed. He doesn't know why he's so sure of that, but a part of him firmly believes it can't have been more than a few minutes, even when that- that sensation felt like it had taken hours of his life.

His face is wet. Wiping his face on his sleeve, he's only mildly perturbed to find it now also wet, and red. And his nose is still leaking. Gross. It's on the floor too- thank God it's just tile and not wood or carpet. His nose doesn't feel broken or bruised so he probably didn't just bash it on the floor when he fell- because he _did_ fall - his nose just started bleeding on its own.

...that can't be good. 

And he's meeting a new potential patient in- he takes a moment to pause his thoughts and look at the clock on the microwave - 3 hours!

Pinching his nose and leaning- uh… it's forward, right? Emile goes to change his shirt and tie, and look up how to get blood out of clothes. Because dammit, he isn't flaking on someone who's probably already super nervous and conflicted over a little… dizzy spill. Because that's all it was. He got dizzy and collapsed, hardly anything to be upset about.

...he takes a cab, just in case. Wouldn't want to drive if he really is getting sick.

Who's he meeting today, again? He only talked to their parents, briefly on the phone. He has it written somewhere in his notes app…

Ah.

Roman Kingsley, 14. Parents say he has self-esteem issues, but pretends to be the opposite. Not too unusual in younger folks today, unfortunately.

. . . 

"Hello, good sir! I assume you're Emilie Picani? Gotta say, I _love_ the tie."

Emile had forgotten which tie he was wearing, but doesn't need to look. A moment of Sight makes his chest a little tight but tells him it's the Lilo and Stitch tie he got in a secret-santa last year. He's pretty fond of it too, to be honest.

"Thank you, that's very nice- and yes, I am. You must be Roman, then?"

Roman is the one who offered the handshake, so Emile gladly accepts, and makes a note of it for later.

"Indeed! My parents have agreed to wait outside for this- thought it was more important for _us_ to be acquainted. Is that alright?"

"Of course, whatever you're most comfortable with, Roman. Go ahead and have a seat, this isn't really meant to be a formal thing. Just for you to meet me and make sure you're comfortable with me as a therapist."

"Yeah. Really I'm not sure if I would have come here at all if my brother hadn't been nagging me about it."

"You mean meeting in person, or seeing a professional at all?"

"The latter- I can admit I'm not always at 100%, no one is, though I took a while to accept that. But I don't think I need professional counseling, for such small trifles…"

"Well Roman, sometimes therapy isn't about fixing a problem you have, and it's never about how "important" the issue is- anything that's enough to bother you, you should be able to talk about freely. Which is what this _is_ about - talking. Honestly, venting your frustrations can already be a huge step to feeling better, and if it's not, we can work together to find a solution that _will_ make you feel better."

"Huh. I get it- it's kinda just like being friends, then? Having my back and getting me through the ah.. touch times?"

"Well, not exactly. There's a reason we aren't supposed to provide serious counseling for friends and family - because we would become too close to the issue and perhaps give biased advice. And if you need that boot in the behind to get you going, that's also what I'm here for."

"Oh. Well… that's good too. Probably better that I don't have more enablers in my life- about six is enough, haha."

...Emile thinks that he and Roman will get along well, if nothing else. He acts a bit like Remy, even. Though he doesn't need to See that a lot of his general excitement and bravado is a front. ...They'll work on that when everything is official.


	5. I think I might start smoking

Okay, so _maybe_ the dizzy spells were more than a one-time thing. It's fine! If this is the end then he just needs to make the most of what time he has left, right? 

…Emile books an appointment for a general checkup. Because… why not. Better to know for sure than just be guessing.

He tells Remy it's just a physical, he's almost forty, afterall! He has to start taking care of himself. 

Emile also books them a few spa days for the next two months, and plans for which movies will be enjoyable, but won't have packed theaters. It's nowhere near their anniversary, and Valentine's is two weeks away, but he makes sure to leave a bunch of candies and small gifts around the house for Remy to find.  
He works even harder with his patients and hopes that Roman's friends are as kind and loyal as he makes them seem.

...Emile is nothing if not responsible with everything but his own health. 

. . . 

The doctor does request an MRI and asks Emile about his medical history. He doesn't like to talk about it much, but he's not going to lie about something like this to the medical professionals, of all people. 

Dr. Worman is very kind, and they don't react as violently as the doctors Emile has seen in past years. They both know that this is all formalities, but they're going through the motions; Dr. Worman even offers to look at the previous diagnosis on file and look for any inaccuracies, or methods used that may be out of date now. Emile agrees to all of it only because he can afford it, and is desperately looking for a way to leave now and hopefully not hear anything back for a few weeks.

The MRI takes less time than he would have thought, and soon enough Emile is heading home. 

_Maybe I should get some of the good wine on the way… I'm sure Rem would appreciate it._

. . . 

Remy seems a little less enthused about the "wine and takeout night" Emile had planned than he thought, but he assured Emile that he's happy with it.

"Yeah, I'm always down to have a chill night for us, babe! It's just that… uh. You've been doing… a lot lately? For me. Is there… something you wanna tell me, orrr…"

"...like what?"

"I dunno. It's nice to be pampered, but this is a little excessive, y'know? When I say I want to eat my weight in chocolate, I mean like ten pounds, Em."

"Oh, I'm sorry- I mean, I guess I just wanted to do something nice for you... Uhm… I can… cut back if you want?"

"You don't need to apologize! Really! I just thought maybe something was going on, like you were trying to not-very-subtly apologize for something. Though now that I think about it, you're way better with direct communication than I am… y'know what, let's just go order that takeout, and you can tell me how your checkup went."

"...yeah, okay."

. . . 

...he ends up watching the late night news channels, when all of their lined up movies have been played. 

Remy goes to bed, eventually, with a kiss goodnight and telling Emile that he should come to bed soon.

He doesn't know why, but there's a dark, heavy feeling inside. Sure, he could just See into the next few hours of television, to check if the news reports will confirm his bad feeling. But somehow, he just… knows that it won't make a difference. Like the doomsday event looming over his head can't be changed either way.

Emile is so tired, that he falls asleep on the couch. But not really. He's both asleep, and in the reality where he stayed up all night watching tv. There's a fire downtown. Just a small one, someone's grill got knocked over and their grass was dry, but they had a hose ready. A few people have gone missing. Emile doesn't recognize any of them, but makes a note of their names and descriptions, anyway. Maybe he'll see one of them.

There really isn't a whole lot of news. At least, not that isn't political of some sort.

And then there's a knock on the door. It's about 4am, so Emile has no idea who would be knocking on their door or why. He looks through the peephole, but can't quite make out if it's anyone he knows in the darkness. More knocking, a little louder. Emile looks through the windows instead.

They're tall. At least, taller than him, by a bit. Wearing mostly all black. They have a hood that is disguising their face perfectly, so Emile isn't really in any better shape than before.  
But really, his hasn't happened yet, and won't for about an hour. So he just opens the door.

"Can I help you? It's very late.."

"I'd prefer to think it's very early. I'm here to ask you a question, I guess."

"Well… I guess that's okay then. But… who are you?"

"That all depends on your answer."

"Alright. Ask away."

The stranger sighs, Emile thinks it's in relief, but it could be exhaustion.

"It's a little hard to phrase this, but… have you ever… seen things? That just… aren't quite normal? Maybe it's shadows that don't quite follow their owners, or the souls behind someone's eyes- hell, even the future?"

"...do you?"

"I asked you first."

"Yes. I…. I can see the future, with some limitations." 

The stranger laughs, and it may just be him, but Emile isn't sure what's so funny about it.

"I can see… uh, I guess you'd call em' auras. Yours just seemed a little… different. Name's Virgil."

"...Emile. Picani. Do you… uh. Wanna come in for tea, or something? I mean, why did you even come here this late, if you wanted to meet with me?"

"Let's just say that daytime isn't really my thing, and I was having a lot of doubts about coming here in the first place. And no, I wouldn't want to impose- but here-"

Virgil, the oddest man Emile had ever been yet to meet, handed him a cellphone.

"Put in your number. Birds of a feather, right?"

. . . 

The actual conversation goes a little differently, because the Emile that carries it out is blurry from sleep. But the essentials are the same. When he wakes up again in the morning, he'll ask himself what the hell he was thinking, opening the door for a complete stranger at 4 in the morning. 

_Stranger danger, Em! Did your parents teach you **nothing?**_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's a little shorter.
> 
> To compensate, I've put a few bonus facts about this au in the notes at the end of the chapter!

They do end up having tea, eventually. When Remy isn't home and Emile finally got Virgil to agree to it, if only so they could try and be friends. 

Virgil is actually a lot more awkward when he isn't looming in Emile's doorway at 4am. They talk a little, mostly about nonsense - just silly icebreakers. Emile can tell pretty easily that Virgil has social anxiety, and is just generally not into people. Maybe it was time to move on to slightly more serious topic - and it's not like he isn't curious about the specifics of why and how Virgil followed him home in the first place.

"Before- you said I was different. Different how?"

"I said your _arua_ is different."

"That's not exactly an answer."

"Uh. Yeah. Because I'm not entirely sure I have one that's gonna be satisfying. Or make sense."

"Well what do normal auras look like?"

At that, Virgil pauses. He spends several moments pondering this, and looking increasingly frustrated as he does so. Finally, he says:

"There aren't… words. In any language… that _I_ know, to define… the uh… state, in which… the auras I see… tend to exist. At least, they all give off a sort of… heat? Or- that's what it feels like, but more dry and it's less of a feeling as it is a taste. Yours didn't, just like mine doesn't. Just uh… well. The absence of heat, but no cold. The only taste was bitter and dissatisfying in every sense of the word."

The whole time, Virgil was switching between bouncing his legs enough to shake the table and wringing his hands so hard Emile winced just watching it.

"...that's a lot of words I don't understand, but honestly I'm not sure I'd be able to do much better with my own uhm… ability."

Emile pauses, not sure if he should tell practically a stranger the same thing he's never told even his husband, his other half- but Virgil also wouldn't care as much as Remy would. He already understands the feeling of having this kind of ability more than Remy ever could.

"I'm… dying. Basically. Will die, soon. So far it's been manageable, but I don't know how long it will stay that way."

"Woah. That's uhm- are you… okay? I mean, emotionally? You don't sound as… devastated, as most would be."

"I've had over two decades to get over it. Though I will admit, passing out and losing about half a cup of blood through my nose wasn't fun."

"I can't imagine it would be."

. . . 

Now that Emile knows he isn't the only one who can… See things, he isn't sure what to do with himself.

Does that mean there's even more of them? How many people can See, and does he already know some of them, besides Virgil? How are they all connected, if at all? It can't be a coincidence, surely.

Well. It _could_ be, but that would be such an anticlimactic answer, and it's not a resolution he'll be ready to accept until there's some more solid evidence on the matter.

...if there's really a way to get any evidence at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Emile was 13 at the time of his... uh.. accident.
> 
> *Patton was almost run over by a drunk driver, and one of his friends he was playing with at the time WAS hit, that's why he's in therapy 
> 
> *No, Emile's parents have never really gotten over his shortened lifespan, and they caused him a lot of stress over it, because he just wanted to move on. It's sad but he's distanced himself from them because of this.
> 
> *Logan is old(er) in this fic, and is basically the cool, but short-tempered grandpa of the group, though he continues to insist that 53 is not old by any means.
> 
> *Thomas is 40, and has known Emile since highschool, though they really only became friends after graduation


	7. Names, Names, Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHOOO BOY JUST KINDA WROTE THIS ALL IN ONE GO AND THREW IT HERE IMMEDIATELY.
> 
> So sorry if they're a bunch of errors, but hey normally I only glance over it anyways...

Emile likes coffee. Logan likes coffee too, though it's probably not good for him.

So they get coffee together sometimes- not exactly _good_ coffee, but it's still a pleasant experience. Usually they'll also get some sort of meal while they're at it; Logan has so many vacation days saved up and Emile essentially makes his own schedule, so that meal can range from 3am pancakes to 5pm pasta and salad.

Emile really enjoys the time they spend together, and Logan does as well (though he doesn't really admit it, he doesn't like to talk about how his own kids are both in college and don't visit or call much, especially he won't say that he feels lonely.) Although he jokes around, he doesn't really think of Logan as old or "slowing down" by any means; quite the opposite, really. Logan seems to get smarter every minute he's alive, constantly searching for new cultures to experience, new languages to dabble in, complex puzzles and word problems that he can spend hours on. It's amazing, and Emile admires him so much for it.

He's seen how Logan will grimace, when someone jokes about his mind deteriorating - he doesn't care about being called old or wearing down physically, but the idea that he could just start to forget things, or lose the ability to think the way he does now - it really upsets him. Terrifies him, if Emile is reading it right. So Emile tries to gently remind him that he doesn't have to prove anything, and that he's loved regardless of his ability to memorize 600 digits of pi. 

_"607, Emile."_

_"I still can't believe it, though! How long have you been reciting it, how long did it take to you to possibly know that many-"_

_"8 weeks of reciting it 4 times a day, and I can't say a lot of my determination isn't out of pure spite at a colleague of mine who kept bragging that he could recite 100 digits of pi."_

_"You're really cool, you know that, Logan?"_

_"I… of course I am."_

_A pause, long enough that Emile thinks the conversation must be over, and:_

_"...Thank you."_

. . .

"I guess I just feel like I'm supposed to be… better, than I am."

"Better at what, exactly?"

Roman shrugs.

"...everything? Like, my grades should be better, I should be a better friend? Score more points for my team? Just… better."

"Sure, self-improvement is a good goal, but _why_ do you want to be 'better'?"

"So I don't let anyone down."

"Who, Roman? Who's going to be disappointed with everything you already are?"

"...." 

...Emile would never call any patient difficult, but there are definitely some _stubborn_ ones.

"Roman, if you want to improve yourself for your own sake, or even for the ones you love, that's wonderful; but you shouldn't set your standards for what is 'good' or 'better' based on someone else's opinions."

"...I'll try to keep that in mind, doc."

. . . 

Is every conversation he's going to have today going to be emotionally exhausting?

...yes, but that doesn't mean he's happy about it.

He is a therapist, yes, but not _every damn minute of the day!_ and not to _every emotionally compromised person he knows!_

"Y'know babe, even when you aren't completely listening, you're a great listener. How do you do that?"

Especially not to drunk, emotionally compromised husbands. Especially not _his_ emotionally compromised husband.  
There are reasons that you aren't meant to council friends and family.

"...well whatever. Anyway, yeah- Amilia can be a bitch but I guess if she's as desperate as she _claims,_ I can give her more hours. But it doesn't like, make any sense! For months, she never covers anyone's shifts, never stays a _minute_ past the end of her shift, and suddenly she's asking for every bit of work she can, with _no_ explanation! If she got in a car wreck or like, got robbed, I would be happy to do it for her, but if we're being honest, her eyes have been looking kinda red recently, and-"

Emile closes his eyes, breathes out, and searches the next few days of his conversations with Remy. If he can provide a 'lucky guess' as to her motives now, maybe Remy will hush up and cuddle already. 

_I just want this headache to go away and have some quiet time with my man, universe! Please tell me where I went wrong..._

"...Are you sure she's getting the money for herself? Maybe her family or friends are in trouble."

"What kind of trouble? I know I'm kinda pushin' it, babe, but you always seem to have the right answer for these things."

"I dunno… maybe she's gotten into some debt recently? Or she had someone taking care of her before but doesn't anymore..."

"Huh. Maybe. That could kick someone's ass into gear. I'll try and ask her again, regardless."

Peace at last.

. . .

It's not that Emile is actually mad at people in general. Not really. It's just that he's kinda sorta dying, recently was told he isn't the only one with a strange, unexplainable ability, and everyone is just so _loud._

Tiny noises he used to not even acknowledge were now grating and very, very annoying. His microwave, for example! That light hum that was usually almost fun to listen to is louder than his TV is most of the time! 

And footsteps! Remy or the cats walking around upstairs may have gotten a little loud sometimes when they were playing or something, but now each one, no matter how soft, makes Emile wonder why the house isn't shaking violently along with them.

… it's… marginally better when he goes to bed without Seeing. Somehow. Seeing at all puts a strain on him, as of recently. He's been a little clumsier and not as confident in conversations, in general. Of course, Emile refuses to work with patients without his Sight, because he values their comfort over all else, but without that driving him it's almost unbearable.

He knows that others have noticed. Remy has been asking if he's sleeping alright, of which the irony has not been lost on either of them.

"You just seem… off, Emmy. You're frustrated with stuff that never bothered you before, and you've bumped into so many corners and pieces of furniture that it's a wonder you haven't broken anything yet. I'm just worried- you know you can tell me anything, right? This is a no-judgment zone."

And every single time he asks, Emile is tempted to just break down right there and tell him everything; to let himself relax once more in his own home, but he _can't._

That's probably why he finds so much comfort in Virgil. They only meet up once a week or longer, but Emile finds himself thinking about it all the time- he's always telling himself "just a few more days, if you can make it a few more days, you can tell him everything and it'll all be fine." Because that's what they do; they vent to each other for a couple of hours each while playing silly, lighthearted movies in the background and eating as much snack food as they can handle. It's… really nice.

_...just three days, Emile. You're meeting on Sunday. Just three more days…._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know the name I originally had for this story is kinda weird. 
> 
> "Checkered with the lids of eyes we'll never see."
> 
> Huh.
> 
> Maybe there was some meaning to it, maybe not. Who knows?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SADNESS IN FUCKING WAVES, FOLKS.

…In hindsight, Emile never really thought things through as well as he should have. It's not like he was expecting to get magically better one day, but his situation hadn't been… real, yet.

But now he's staring up at a blank white ceiling, and Remy is freaking out.

...right. He should probably get back to that. At some point. When did he stop listening in the first place…?

"Emile, listen- I know you're like, super tired and shit and apparently had a _seizure_ oh my GOD- but I really need some answers, babe!"

"...answers about what? 'M sorry… I didn't catch a lot of that."

"I _mean-_ has this ever happened before? The doctors mentioned something about a 'previous occurrence' on your record, but I'm _pretty sure I would remember that sort thing._ "

"Uhm. Yeah. I- had a similar seizure as a child. They never really pinpointed the cause, and wrote it off as a one-time thing. It just… never came up. Sorry I didn't tell you, though."

"So… you have no idea what's going on then? This is just some- some freak accident? But if it's happened more than once, there has to be a reason- right?"

"...I'm. Not sure. We've tested for epilepsy and other conditions, but there's nothing. They say I'm perfectly healthy, save for some lasting damage to my occipital lobe and hippocampus."

"...I have no idea what those are, but I'm gonna assume that's up in your head."

"Parts of the brain responsible for vision processing and recognition memory, as well as other things. Though the brain is generally complex, no part does just one thing."

"Alright… well, there were a few other things they mentioned, but they said that it was better to ask you, doctor patient confidentiality and all."

Emile… doesn't know what to think. But he is so… _exhausted._ And he loves Remy, so much. The day that they agreed to be Mr and Mr Picani was unquestionably the best of his life. He's kept this one secret for so long, justifying it however he could- but. If he really _doesn't_ have the time that he thought he did… what's the point in dying with such a barrier between him and ther person he's supposed to trust the most?

("My name isn't worth much, babe. I think I'd rather take yours… if that's okay?"

"Remy, your name is worth just as much as mine, don't base your decision on that. I would be delighted to call you Mr. Remington Picanni, but we can hyphenate, or whatever else you'd-")

"I… I think I'm done with confidentiality, now. No more… no more secrets."

("While it's not like I don't love making out at the dinner table, you didn't answer."

"I just did! Babe- I want _your_ name, because _I_ don't like _mine,_ okay? If we ever have kids they will _not_ be called a Dormelle, if I can stop it."

"Alright alright- now let me up, the table is digging into my back.")

"I think… It's time I tell you… a few things…"

. . . 

Okay, so maybe he was freaking out _a little,_ after spilling essentially his biggest secret ever for the second time in a few weeks. But he'd like to think it's mostly because _Remy_ was freaking out first, and was setting a mood.

He'd been talking nonstop for a minute or two, and Emile had realized fairly quickly that it would be easier to just let him get this out of his system.

"-WAIT A MINUTE! OKAY I know this isn't a very important thought babe but for a really long time I've been wondering, and you've always been kinda vague about it, but is this why you weren't nervous at all when you proposed? I mean I've seen friends propose before, even helped then set it up, and they would look like the world was about to end if there was even like, 10 seconds of hesitation, but you were smooth as _fuck,_ even when I basically fainted-"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Rem. Yes, I knew what your reaction would be, but I only knew the specifics on the day of. It's pretty difficult to see accurately ahead more than a day or two."

"...right, right. That's why you're dying in the first place, and OH MY GOD YOU ARE _DYING_ , EMILE THIS IS SO IMPORTANT THIS ISN'T JUST SOMETHING THAT "DOESN'T COME UP" YOU IDIOT-"

"Remmington, please! I… I didn't want… I thought you'd be happier, not knowing. I- I realize, how incredibly pathetic that excuse sounds in the face of all this, but I really…"

"Oh, yes, I would be absolutely _stoked_ to see my husband just collapse one day and never get up for seemingly _no reason!_ Why would you- and you _knew_! You knew you were going to die before we even _met!_ "

"I didn't mean it like that! Look- when I Saw- when I _Saw_ my life, back then- the first time I saw you, without having even met you yet- Remy, I knew I couldn't live without you. From that day on, I spent _years_ waiting for you, knowing what our life together would be like. And I never- I never once saw this, if you can believe me. What I saw, was one moment we were happy, in love and together, and the next was just. Empty. Nothing came after. I didn't know how the end would come, I just knew that I wasn't content, couldn't feel a _fraction_ of the amount of joy you bring me."

"...so it's all about how you feel huh? Well… guess I can't say I'd be happy anywhere else, either. 'Least… not knowing you were around, somewhere."

They were both crying, and neither was particularly bothered by that fact. They were both smiling, as well.

If the end was coming for him, Emile would try his damnned fucking best to see it that Remy didn't stop smiling, not when it hurt or when it seemed impossible. For as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OwO? Is this the end? Just a new beginning? YOU DECIDE!
> 
> Let me know if you're happy with how things are, or if you'd like to see the rest of what I have prepared. It really ain't much, and I'll warn you know it might leave you feeling more dissatisfied than how you started.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pffft did you really think I'd leave it there? I mean I do genuinely not like this ending, or at least I wouldn't as a casual reader, but it's about as wrapped up as it's gonna get, so I hope no one is too upset.

It's been 8 months, since his hospital visit.

Emile… doesn't know what happend, not really. It's hard to put into words.

He can't See anymore.

It hadn't exactly all left him at once, it just became gradually harder and harder to do it, until one night he went to sleep, fully prepared to See into as much if the next day as he was still able, and instead he slept dreamlessly.

Nothing at all, just emptiness. Not unlike what he had seen at the end of his vision as a child.

He still gets headaches that are a son of bitch, though, and he has nosebleeds at least once a week. It doesn't seem like his overall health has suffered too much for it, but he's definitely weaker than he's felt in years. Maybe more that he's ever felt.

Emile tried asking Virgil about it. If something similar had ever happened to him. But on the same day that he lost his sight, Virgil's contact had disappeared from his phone, and he found it impossible to remember anything beyond the first three digits. Virgil never made any efforts to contact him, and Emile found nothing at his apartment. It was like no one had even lived there to start with. 

...well. He got the hint, at least. Though he would admit that it hurt. Part of him wondered if Virgil had really existed at all, there certainly wasn't any concrete proof otherwise. Just memories. Images that faded a little more each day.

. . .

**Some time earlier, in the same place**

Emile had been in the hospital for almost a week, before they deemed him safe enough to leave.

He'd missed a night out with his friends, Remy too. Of course Logan and Thomas understood- the whole "life and death" situation was never really considered when they made up the rules, so it was let slide. Emile still paid for the first round of drinks, the next week.

Remy employed the help of Logan to bully him into sitting down and taking things easy whenever possible, and Thomas's help to constantly bring him water or napkins or whatever he might need at that second. It was exhausting, really. Completely unnecessary. And yet… very sweet, too. He couldn't tell whether he should be mad or not, to be honest.

" _Em, what did I tell you about trying to grab stuff from the top shelf!?_ "

…he could multitask. 

. . .

Things would get easier, over time, if not exactly better. Hardships become easier to deal with, easier to ignore, given time.

Remy doesn't miss how Emile tends to… go a little crazy? When something bad happens that he " _should_ have been able to stop." He also realizes how accident free their lives had been all the way up to now- no big accidents, no outstanding debt or crappy jobs. Not that those things were hitting them now, but gradually they lost a certain confidence they had in their lives before. Emile especially became more acutely aware of his own fear of the unknown.

His whole life he'd never had to be frightened of what _might_ happen, only things that definitely _would_ happen that he didn't have time or the resources to stop; and those things he could get over, because it wasn't practical to try and see weeks or months into the future for things he _might_ end up missing, by just living day to day. He'd never find anything specific that way, anyways.

...sometimes all you have is what's right now, what is immediately ahead and can be reasonably controlled by your actions. For most people, that's _all_ they have.

And Emile could learn to be like most people, surely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that this is complete... 
> 
> Sigh.
> 
> I honestly cannot return to Falling Stars At My Command yet. I don't have any good reason, save that I've lost my motivation. I may pick it up again someday, but you'd be less disappointed in future to just assume I won't, if you've even read it.
> 
> That being said, if you want to send me prompts or even wanna collab on something, go ahead and let me know in the comments or whatever!
> 
> Till next time, yall :)


End file.
